Fated - [Bjorn Ironside]

Prologue

It all began in a forest.

An ancient clan endured the nature and wild for centuries. They were known as the Woltinmund, a fabled tribe said to have been descendants of the all father, Odin. They lived off the earth, but never stayed in one place for long.

For there were others that saw their existence as a nuisance, as a threat.

It all began in a forest.

Neighboring earls caught tales of those that lived in the shadows of the trees; that bent the wood to their will; that shot straight and true with their bows of yew; that claimed to be the children of the gods.

One by one, each warrior of the forest had fallen. There was once a raid in the darkest of nights, where men, women, and babes coated the earth in their blood.

It all began in a forest.

One warrior, struck by the grief of the death of his wife, ran.

With a child in his arms, three men at his side, and a pack of beasts chasing them to the shoreline—he ran.

A genocide that will be noticed by no one. A story that will not survive past the tree line.

It all began in a forest.

They had built boats that were not meant for the open waters, but what choice did they have?

One man was lost as he pushed the boat further into the sea. An arrow filled his heart.

Three men and one child filled the boat to the brim with nothing but the furs on their backs and weapons in hand. And they sailed west. All that was left of the Woltinmund teetered across waters, unknown of when or if they would find land.

One man filled the boat with his blood, a wound sustained during the raid. He too had fallen.

One man drank of the waters and went mad, eventually falling asleep and never waking up. His body was cradled by the ocean.

One man, the father, had survived. His child, too, lived. It was only them that found land.

It all began in a forest.

They left their boat on the shore. The land was soft yet cold.

He hunted what he could with the arrows he had with him and fed his child.

They wandered unknown terrain. Every rock and tree foreign to them. This was not a forest they ever recognized.

Hunger comes for all. The father fell, gaunt and weak. His bow was stronger than he, and for that, he bestowed it upon his child.

It all began in a forest.

The father had fallen asleep, and nothing his child could do would wake him.

The child cried at his side, pulling at the furs that decorated his collar. His slumber was eternal.

Something creaked in the twilight. The child had refused to leave the father, who lay motionless and grey. There was no desire to run, to flee. What more could be taken when all was lost?

It all began in a forest.

"Who are you, child?" it spoke, but the child did not understand. What were the words that come from his lips? Did he mean death or salvation?

The man had looked at the father. "Is this your father?"

The child stared at the man dressed in white with brown curls. The man looked at the furs, the bow, the symbols that danced on the skin of the father. Tattoos of ravens and serpents encircled his neck.

"You are a long way from home," the child gasped at the voice. The man spoke in words that could be understood.

The child only spoke once on that quiet morning.

"I have no home."

It all began in a forest.